Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (45 page)

CHAPTER 20

We shuffled forward, dodging
angry and scared people, many of who were wounded. We pushed them like maniacs, cursed like old, grizzled soldiers and Laroche had to beat a man over the head after he was incited by our struggle. We were trying to reach a single man in chaos, and I was single-minded in my attempt to find him. Surely, it could not be him, I thought to myself, bewildered. Two National Guardsmen blocked my way, screaming at me to give up my sword, and I noticed I had pulled it, the bright blade shimmering. I growled at them and walked forward, and they ran, but I only later realized Laroche had aimed a weapon their way over my shoulder. Soon the crowds grew less thick, the cannonade and volleys less loud as Napoleon made sure no king would sit on the throne for a long time, at least until emperor tried it for a while. ‘Can you see the man?’

‘What man?’ Laroche said, loading his gun angrily. I had not realized he had killed someone. He shrugged. ‘A royalist thought I was on the other side.
Young fellow, but now as old as he is ever going to get. What man?’

‘A man in a green jacket! An old one,’ I screamed, but we did not see him. In the end, I decided it did not matter.

That evening, order was being forced on the unruly Paris. Cockade became suddenly popular again, we saw as we hiked over the Seine. I was going to go and see the old man, and my old home.

By early night, I stood in front of it. Laroche was fidgeting as the neighborhood saw a strange soldier and a girl, but I was not worried. It was here it all started and somehow, it seemed proper to be here. I eyed Florian’s old house, and the house still had the familiar sign on the door, Claude still sold chocolate, and I wondered if he knew where Florian would be buried. I wanted to know if the old man knew of Gilbert. So, I went to the door and knocked
resolutely. Soon, someone was coming slowly down the apparently rickety stairs. Finally, a man on the door yelled with a thin voice: ‘closed! Come back tomorrow!’

‘It is Jeanette Baxa,’ I said
calmly. A stupefied silence followed, then a mad scrabbling at the locks and the door flew open.

‘Jeanette?’ Claude said, on his shirtsleeves. There was a bewildered look on his face, and he was clearly senile, for he had no pants on. Laroche was shaking his head in
disgusted wonder as the old man hugged me fiercely. ‘I thought most all you Baxa’s dead.’

‘I am not, nor is mother, and Julie and Jean must be alive.’

‘Ah dear child. Who is this?’ he tried to ogle at Laroche. ‘A police?’

Laroche snorted and I shot a venomous look at the man, shutting him up. That the old man would confuse
rouge like Laroche for a police was a clear sign of decay. ‘What were you doing in Tuiliers today?’ I asked, as he was weakly trying to pull me inside, but I resisted gently.

His eyes brightened. ‘Why, I was there to defend the Republic!’

I shoved Laroche away, as the bastard was giggling uncontrollably and smiled at the old man. ‘Claude Antin, what were you going to defend Republic with?’

‘I would have fought! I could not get to Florian, though.’

I felt a strange grasp of pain around my heart, doubt gnawing at me. ‘Florian is dead, sir,’ I said carefully. ‘Gilbert…’

His eyes
rounded, as he looked terrified. ‘No! But I talked with him yesterday!’

The pain turned
into anger, squeezing my chest, icy claws tearing at my innards and I had to lean on the windowsill. ‘Florian is alive?’

He looked genuinely astonished, the feeble look gone, and he
noticed he was wearing no pants. ‘Sorry, my dear, old age. Yes, of course! He works for the government. He has ever since Gilbert hired him as a secretary. They…’ he started, and then looked embarrassed. ‘They are friends, as you are.’

I cannot remember what else he said, but he was smiling happily, chatting of this and that, tugging me inside, insisting he could offer me
fine wine from Loire valley with delicious sweets and rare chocolates, but finally, I shook my hand off. ‘When did Gilbert hire him?’

‘Why, Gilbert was still working for Georges Danton? Yes. Florian is very useful in organizing things, and he is Gilbert’s secretary. All Gilbert’s paperwork, he does and he holds it and he knows most everything,’ Claude said proudly
. ‘He has some hide for the stuff and a guard or two. He is important.’

‘Where does Gilbert live?’ I asked him sweetly. ‘I would like to see my old friend and cousin.’

‘Gilbert is in the Tuiliers, and he has a room and office there. Works for Barras, I think? Don’t tell anyone, but I think he is twisting Barra’s arm for I find Gilbert is a bit of a snake. He rarely leaves Tuiliers, as he is being closely watched for his past crimes, but Florian goes to him daily,’ Claude said, confidentially. ‘Florian tells me Barras has nasty secrets, smear all over his past and present, and Gilbert has latched on to the vein of the great man and some others. Today, he will be even more powerful since that Barras won, happily!’

My heart fell.
To get to Tuiliers to kill Gilbert? Impossible, but I would try. I kissed him on the cheeks and turned to go and he grasped my hand. ‘Go and see Florian though. He owes your house now and will be home later. He worries about me, you see and did not wish to move far. I will give you the key.’

That night, I sat in Colbert’s
old garden. After Laroche had killed the unsuspecting man who was guarding the house, an old sans-culotte, quite drunk, I had checked the familiar rooms. Colbert’s apartment was where Florian lived and it was not as rich as it had been, but prosperous enough with serviceable oaken furniture, new and shiny. Upstairs had been abandoned, our former home, the room where I grew, and in Adam’s apartment there was food storage. I saw a blood smear on the floor, an old one, one from Sara, Gilbert’s mother, who had died there, and for some reason, I had cried for the poor woman and cursed Georges for that deed.

Under the stairs, behind the loose
plank where we used to hide our ill-gotten pranking tools and treasures, I had found a heavy, locked box, and had Laroche carry it to the garden. That box had a slip of paper sticking out of the side, and it was apparently stuffed with other papers, likely very important ones. I had looked for a key, but it was surely with Florian, and so I waited. Laroche was sitting in the shadows of the stairway, waiting as well, though not as patiently as I did as he was thumping the stairs with the butt of his musket and I cursed him, for should not a damned poacher be calm as a stalking wolf?

Henri’s sword was in my hand, glittering in the pale moonlight as I turned it, and I knew people were looking down to the garden from the surrounding houses, wondering. The garden smelled the same, but this was no longer home, and I felt strangely unattached as I looked around the place I had run around in for most my life. I was here to do a deed, but I did not enjoy my past home or it’s past masters, and I had a hunch I did not love its current occupant. Love was far from here, and I
would go to it, when I was done, if I could. Henri’s sword was there, and that gave me many kinds of comfort.

At one in the night, a
carriage arrived. I heard if from afar, the cobblestones and wheels rattling, the noise echoing dully in the night.

I heard a man yell: ‘gare!’ Beware. I heard a man speak
brusquely, the opening of the front door, and I heard Florian laugh. They had been drinking, apparently happy, celebrating their unexpected survival. I heard their relaxed steps and then a musket banged and a man was no longer a man, but a piece of rotting meat that slumped to the floor of my former home. Smoke poured to the garden from the open doorway. Then, sounds of struggle.

‘Who are you? Mercy!’ Florian’s
scared voice demanded, then a sharp slap. I smiled for Laroche had made good of my description of Florian and had killed the right man, apparently his bodyguard.

Laroche poked his head inside. ‘The guard is not going to bother you. I will drag him next to the one
who guarded the place. Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ I told him
softly, and Florian practically flew to the garden. He picked himself up, bewildered. His long face and elaborately dressed, thin body bespoke of fear as he shook, staring at the naked blade in my hand. Then I realized he did not see me in the shadows and I got up.

‘Who are you? A woman?’ he asked, weakly
, ogling at the fine dress I was wearing and also wondering at the scuffed uhlan boots peaking from under the hem. ‘This can be discussed. Ask for anything, I beg,’ he whispered.

‘I wish to know, Florian,
how is it possible that you promised you would stand against anything for me, yet you would betray me like this,’ I said maliciously, as I came forward. He leaned to the wall, thinking he had seen a ghost.

‘Oh yes,’ I laughed. ‘I am the Revenant now, returned from the dead, leaving behind corpses, for they are gone, Gilbert’s men.’ Save for Voclain, I thought, but that was only a technicality.

His eyes measured me, carefully. He thoughts were going over many options and fine arguments, but he saw I was not in the mood to negotiate, not that night. I shook my head at him, denying him hope.

‘
Well, I said most anything, Jeanette,’ he said slowly. ‘But, we are friends, Jeanette,’ he offered. ‘We played together, you know I liked you.’

‘But you like Gilbert better.’ It was that simple.

He shrugged. ‘He and I? Yes, I always liked him. He was decisive and he taught me many things, stood up for me. It was always us against the ruffians, and you were the one we were slaying or saving. Remember? I stood up for you, but I loved him. I am sorry.’ He had a calculative look on his face. He thought of me as a woman, which was fine. I was one, but not like I had been, or like most women he likely knew.

I spat at him though I spoke calmly. ‘And so you came to the Temple, wheedled out
the knowledge who knew where my siblings were. I told you of Lucile and her hatred of us. You likely were there when they tortured Robert? No, don’t deny it. Then you fucked me, pretended to love me more than you loved him, lied to me about your father, and took position and coin under Gilbert.’

‘Yes,’ he admitted, no regret evident. ‘I am his secretary.’ I saw he had a sword strapped onto his side, a slimmer thing than mine and he was fingering it. He always wanted to be a knight, I remembered but had turned out a demon, like Gilbert had predicted.

I grinned at him. ‘Gilbert, Gilbert. Now he is prospering again, is he not?’

He nodded happily. ‘He is trying to be a man for France, Jeanette, to be a great man. He has his methods, and perhaps he would be a diff
erent man, had his father lived. He would still be a nasty bastard, at times, but nothing like what Georges Danton and your murder attempt made of him. It is dirty work, Jeanette, the filth of politics, as dirty as tagging behind army unit on campaign.’

‘
Danton and I? It is Adam, who made him, but I don’t care anymore. As for filth? The dirt of an army camp and blood of battle can be washed off, Florian. This shit cannot, it reeks of cowardice,’ I spat at him and tapped the locked box, and his eyes rounded in fear and calculations, as his hand shot to his pocket, where the key was. ‘If mother and I were dead, would he truly still come after Jean and Julie?’

He grunted. ‘Yes.
As he told you. He meant it. In the books we read as children, there were great kings and dread warlords, remember? The only way the king is safe is to make sure nobody comes to avenge him. That is Gilbert. That is how he thinks. We discussed it, and I agreed with him. He is right.’

I smiled at him coldly.
‘You agreed with him. I see. Has he looked for them?’

Florian laughed. ‘No.’

‘No?’ I asked, surprised.

‘I have,’ he said, proudly. ‘He asked me to as he was busy trying to survive
Paul Barras.’

‘And what have you found?’ I asked him harshly.

‘I, with incredible luck and sheer force of will found a man, who sold them a ticket to a coach. They crossed the border, Jeanette. After they were warned that the Public Safety apparatus was looking for them, they fled. They went to Austria, all of them and I got this information on a letter yesterday, you see.’

‘And Gilbert knows?’ I
asked, shakily.

He sneered at my brief weakness, gathering strength from it.
‘He knows nothing yet, Jeanette. It has been a dangerous week, with the Royalists clamoring for our heads. I have to say that Italian general Buonaparte really earned his spurs today.’

‘How is it, Florian,’ I hissed at him, ‘that Gilbert is terrified at us, driven to kill the lot of our unhappy family, for we remember the scared, little Gilbert, but not you?’

‘That is not for you to know,’ he said with a smile. ‘It is our secret.’

‘You will give me this letter
speaking of my lost siblings, Florian, my friend.’

‘Surely, friend,’ he told me. ‘It is in that box.’

We waited. There were whispers in the night, as people in the surrounding buildings saw us standing there, sensing something was wrong. ‘Key, friend. Give me the key,’ I said, not concerned in the least.

‘I have it here, Jeanette,’ he told me and pulled a key briefly to sight, then let it drop back in. ‘But there are things in that box you do not need, and I wish to give it to you, but not them.’